


Heavy Is The Cost

by DysfunctionalRequest



Series: Further South [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Gore, Death, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Please give it a try, Sad?, Violence, please, themes of death, this took me ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DysfunctionalRequest/pseuds/DysfunctionalRequest
Summary: Kyle first sees Death on a Monday morning like any other.He vows to protect his friends, but maybe, maybe the cost was too high. But it wasn’t really. There isn’t a real cost for a life.In which Kyle gives away everything he knows in an act to guarantee his friend’s safety.This is a one shot, please give it a chance I’m awful at summaries.
Relationships: Ike Broflovski & Kyle Broflovski, Kyle Broflovski & Eric Cartman, Kyle Broflovski & Eric Cartman & Kenny McCormick & Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski & Kenny McCormick, Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh
Series: Further South [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627606
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Heavy Is The Cost

He first meets Death on a Monday morning like any other.

Cartman shouting, Stan still half-asleep, and Kenny reading a porn magazine. It is normal and Kyle likes it, though they’ve waited by the bus stop for years now. Kyle yawns, ignoring Cartman’s rehearsed comments and stares across the road. He wants the bus to arrive; it’s cold and icy, which is never a good combination for him. To prove a point, the wind suddenly picks it up a few notches, almost knocking even Cartman over. Kyle curses because he just really wants to go to school.

“Fucking wind.” Cartman yells at nothing, and Kyle laughs. It’s fairly normal in their eyes, and so he takes his eyes off the road for a few _goddamn_ seconds to roll his eyes, maybe snatch Kenny’s magazine away.

That was his first mistake.

There’s a screech of tyres and Kyle knows something is wrong before he turns around, because why would a bus be moving that fast? He knows it’s a bus because of the tar like smell surrounding it that he always hated.

Stan’s eyes widen almost comically and he pushes Kyle further away from the road. The force sends them both falling to the ground, and Kyle gets a glimpse of Cartman’s boots flash past him before the tar-like smell is much stronger – too close.

He feels a tyre scrape his shoe and the hot engine on his legs, but then it is gone. He doesn’t look up, keeping his head firmly planted in the snow, until Stan shakes his shoulder. His face is pale when he looks up at him.

“Dude…” Stan’s voice is quiet. Kyle follows his gaze, expression mirroring Stan’s.

Tyre marks just miss his entire body, almost unnaturally. Kenny’s magazine got it worse than him, all torn up on the floor. Heck, even Kenny had been safer than him in that moment, and this was Kenny freaking McCormick, the one that always died.

“It almost got you.” Kenny says under his parka, his voice muffled.

It’s then, on that almost-regular Monday morning that he first sees Death.

He was standing across the road, looking like how everyone thought he would be. A long scythe in one hand, folds of black fabric surrounding him. Kyle is oddly at peace with his appearance, staring deep into where his eyes should be.

Stan speaks again, saying something Kyle doesn’t acknowledge, and Death is gone.

“Talk to us Jew!” Cartman shouts. Kyle slowly turns to him, the feeling not quite leaving him. He blinks, staring up at his three friends. He takes Kenny’s offered hand, pulling himself up.

“What do you want me to say?” The feeling is gone and anger replaces his shock fast. “We all almost got hit by a fucking bus!”

What he said was true – all of them had almost died those few minutes ago. Yeah, Kyle came the closest to getting ploughed, but if the bus was moved slightly…they would all be roadkill.

“Shit dude.” Stan sighs, running a hand down his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a habit that had never quite died from when he was younger.

“Aw come on, now we have to walk to school?!” Cartman’s words are a quick change of mood. The bus is nowhere to be seen, and it is almost forgotten by all of them. The experience of near death was fading from their minds. Old news.

“Fuck you Cartman.” Kyle could only say, folding his arms. “Fuck you.”

“Shut up Jew!” Cartman retorts, and just like that it’s a normal Monday morning again. The blood stained image of Death, however, stays in Kyle’s consciousness. He thinks he catches a glimpse of Death again, but the second’s over and he’s gone. He thinks that he had escaped.

That was his second mistake.

They walk to school in the end, despite Cartman’s moaning, and Kyle finds himself unfocused. The day flies by. Class after class after class of Kyle staring out of the window, his mind elsewhere. The nearly-bus-crash was only mentioned once more, as an offhand joke by Kenny. Because who else would ever dare joke about such a thing. It was lunch, and Kyle had given Kenny his lunch, as usual.

“The world may have fucked me up countless times.” Kenny says, munching on Kyle’s sausage roll, “but this time it got something right – I didn’t die before trying this amazing lunch.” They laugh, maybe too loud. It really isn’t that funny, but it takes the edge of what almost happened. An image cuts through Kyle’s mind - _dead, bleeding corpses of them all_ – and he prays silently for that never to happen to them again. He says, in his mind, that he will do anything to help them live. Anything. With his friends around him, even Cartman, he knows that it is his refuge from the outer world, something that can never be forced.

So, he says he will do anything to the anyone listening, anything. Anything at all.

And that was his third mistake.

Kyle believes that all events are triggered by actions. There is no fate, no destiny – it is all random, like one big game of roulette. One action leads to a variety of others – this is why he thinks palm reading and fortune tellers are frauds. How can you predict something random? You can’t. Random is the made, done, or happening without method or conscious decision. It just wasn’t possible in his eyes.

But if he were to believe in fate and destiny and all of that, he would say that it could be changed, but only if the person or thing wanted it to, or believed they could. Telling someone that something was their fate was enough to put make them think it was. If Kyle was trapped in some fate, he always liked to think he could make the choice.

Kyle believes that all events were triggered by actions, and these three actions that he had taken would change anything to come.

The bell rings and Kyle realises that he is still sitting in the cafeteria. He jumps, cursing, and runs to his next class.

He is still late anyway.

But the class is fast, and so are the others. Kyle wonders whether he should almost get hit by a bus more often just to see his classes fly by without him.

The bus doesn’t arrive at the bus stop, as expected. He, Stan and Kenny (Cartman thought ahead and phoned his mom) walk together down the snowy roads. Kyle’s shoes are soaking by the time he gets home. Of course, his mother coddles him as he enters the house.

“Oh Kyle.” His mom is slightly mad, but she thankfully lets him scurry upstairs to “do some work.” Naturally, Kyle does anything but. It is how it had always been.

Ike, a few hours later – has it really been that long? – comes into his room without knocking, grinning.

“What are you smiling about?” Kyle’s seen that smile before. It’s only reserved for things that really please him. At the question, Ike only grins harder.

“Mom says she might by me a hamster soon! Isn’t that great!” Ike is almost jumping, which makes Kyle laugh. He isn’t much of an animal person, so he never asked for one at Ike’s age. But Ike is almost as enthusiastic as Stan when it came to animals, and so naturally he was bursting for joy.

“Just keep him out of my room.” Kyle warns playfully, and he swats him over the head. Ike ducks away, still smiling.

“Just thought I’d warn you before I release him in here.” Ike pretends to assess the room, humming. “Yes…those cushions look chewable…”

“If you dare.” Kyle laughs, throwing a pencil at him. It hits Ike square in the head, and he swoons. It looks like it will be a war between the brothers but his mother calls them for tea.

It’s suddenly night and Kyle is staring up at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to close. It’s cold in his room, the coldest it’s ever been and he’s pissed because of it. He thinks of how cold it was outside, before he almost died. It was about the same temperature.

It’s the coldest he’s ever felt in the small town and he doesn’t like it.

In an act to shield himself he huddled under the covers, curling up. It seems to work, because the next minute he’s asleep.

He dreams of white and red mixing together, all in one blend. The red leaks over the white, dripping at his feet. Kyle watches it, feeling fear creep inside of him. He wants to run, but then reminds himself that it is a dream – running would be pointless.

_“Don’t be so sure, human.”_

Kyle jumps, twisting himself around. His eyes meet with empty caverns of what used to be. His mouth opens to a silent scream, but he stops himself. Or maybe he doesn’t, because he has no voice once the figure raises one skeletal hand.

Death is standing in front of him, long scythe in hand. He towers over Kyle, shifting his jaw. Kyle only watches, stepping back.

_“Though it is in your nature, I must ask you to not run.”_ Death’s voice was smooth yet rough, quiet yet loud, soft yet hard. Kyle blinks up at him. “ _You, human, said you would do anything to protect your human friends. I heard your plea. But no human has ever gone through this before, the price is too high.”_

“I…” Death made him speechless, and he was left to gaze up at him. “They are safe. I know they are.”

Death says nothing, does nothing, only clutches his scythe tighter. His fingers drum against it, but not impatiently. Kyle does not understand what Death is trying to say, and that does not bother Death. Maybe he was expecting this.

 _“I leave you here, human.”_ Death says, fading into the white. _“I leave you here.”_

Kyle wakes and it’s morning. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept a wink.

The day is the same old. Walk Ike to school, wait at the bus stop. It wasn’t complicated but with his whole experience last night burning in his mind, it takes him double the time. He almost misses the bus – or so he thinks, but it doesn’t arrive anyway. Stan greets him as usual, but his expression is deeper.

“Two people died on that bus.” Is what he is met with when he walks within earshot. Kyle just blinks, expecting it.

“So it just missed us.” He murmurs. He wonders whether Death really was a figment of his imagination. He’s had more visual nightmares before, which were much, much worse. The main question that pulses through his mind – if it really was Death of course – is why him? Surely not many people get to hear from Death in their dreams (again, if he was real). The only logical conclusion he managed to think up was that he had missed it – he should’ve died yesterday.

But it isn’t real – it is just because he stays up too late most nights. Probably.

But why had it felt so real?

And thus, the loop of uncertainty begins again.

“Jesus Christ Kyle, pay attention.” Cartman’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts, and he glares at the teen. Kenny and Stan are looking at him in a more concerned way.

“Are you ok? You seem a little…” Kenny doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he gestures with his hands. Kyle huffs, folding his arms.

“I’m just distracted over studies that’s all.” Kyle lies to his friends for the first time in a while, knowing that even for South Park this is crazy.

“Yeah yeah stupid Jew.” Cartman mutters but Kyle is used to his constant comments to the point it would be strange without them.

They are still standing at the bus stop until Kenny suggests to leave and skip school. Usually Kyle would say no, but at this point he doesn’t care. He wants some normality.

“Yeah, sure.” He is the first to answer and, after a slightly suspicious look from Stan, they leave the bus stop behind. They go back the way they came, stepping over their footprints.

On the route to town that they take (so they won’t be seen skiving) there is a steep drop from a cliff that has always had signs like DANGEROUS and STAY AWAY. The cliff is never a problem though, not when they are used to edging around it. So Kyle doesn’t worry, because he’s never had to before - it’s just like walking across a pavement.

“Kenny dude, that’s fucking gross.” Stan points out as Kenny giggles behind his hood. In his hand is a picture of an obese lady – there would be nothing wrong with it, but she is nude. Because this was Kenny, the guy who has weed in his back pockets and a porn magazine of every flavour. Kenny never actually reads most of them, he only keeps them to sell. But sometimes, he’ll wave a particularly _exquisite_ picture in their face. Last week it was an old man. God knows where he got that.

“Fucking ugly!” Cartman yells, snatching the paper from Kenny’s hand. Kenny giggles as Cartman throws it down the cliff side, dusting off his hands.

“Where do you even get these dude?” Kyle dares to ask because it is really becoming a problem – one minute he’s fine and the next he’s got some grotesque picture in his face.

“Cartman’s mom!” Kenny laughs. He ducks as Cartman aims a punch at him.

“Ay! Shut your goddamn mouth!” He screams. Stan holds him back before he can harm Kenny further, which isn’t a bad idea.

At first Kyle thinks that Cartman’s shouts are making the ground shake. He thinks the rumble overhead is some wind. But when Kenny looks up, Kyle knows something is wrong. A strong sense of déjà vu comes to him in a wave as he stares up.

A cloud of white is tumbling down the mountain, cascading to where they all are standing. He’s seen these before on the local news.

Avalanche.

In their younger years, they were taught to go under their desks if they heard any bad, loud noises. The teacher demonstrated, and Cartman had laughed because some of her knickers were shown when she ducked. It was enforced into them. Duck. Wait for adult. Wait for the bad noises to stop.

There are no desks now, on this unused road that they really shouldn’t be using. There are no desks or tables or chairs. No teacher accidentally giving them a flash of her striped underwear as she tells them what to do.

“Avalanche!” Kenny’s voice is muffled but the fear is clear. They are frozen, staring around wide-eyed. There is no cover, almost as if it was a trap.

“There!” Cartman has to yell to be heard, pointing to a small shelter that Kyle hadn’t seen. They run together, squashing each other as they squeezed themselves inside. The avalanche roars overhead and Kyle covers his ears. The image of Death flashes in front of his eyes so he closes them, seeking comfort in his friends.

Because Kyle was always the one in that class that was too scared of the possibility of an avalanche. Everyone called him a chicken, but each time the teacher told them to go under his desk he wouldn’t because he wanted to run instead. He wanted to run far away.

The noise stops.

Kyle opens his eyes.

The last of the snow is tumbling down the cliff. Kyle watches it as it falls away, listening to Cartman curse. The snow had avoided their shelter entirely – a stroke of luck that Kyle is thankful for. He looks over at where they were a few seconds ago and it is covered in snow.

“Jesus Christ Cartman!” Kenny’s shout makes Kyle jump. He turns over to Cartman automatically and almost faints. He would’ve done Cartman hadn’t glared at him as if to say “don’t you dare pussy.”

There is an icicle stuck in Cartman’s arm in an almost cartoonish way. Blood bubbles at the bottom near his skin, but thankfully the cut isn’t deep. It would need stitches though.

“Fuck.” Kyle only manages to spit out. Cartman rolls his eyes, gritting his teeth.

“Is that all you can say, Jew?” He hisses. Unfortunately, his attitude wasn’t stabbed along with the arm.

“Come on dude, we can get it fixed.” Stan’s always the voice of reason, surprisingly. Mostly Kyle is too caught up in emotions to play the part. Cartman curses again, because the thought of going to Hell’s Pass Hospital is enough to make anyone pissed, and they help him up. The walk is a long one, but it goes fast for Kyle. He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead of him.

It was too close.

Too soon it’s night again.

Kyle’s room is cold, colder than outside, and he shivers. His small frame can’t battle the frosted air so he gives up, bundling himself under the sheets again. He bites his lip, thinking. His decision is made, but he still thinks. Kyle always thinks over things a little too much. To be fair, this was much more complex than a math problem or a spelling test.

Kyle closes his eyes, images flashing behind his eyelids.

And it’s white again, but there is more red than white. The red is leaking closer to him and he steps back.

It worked.

Then it couldn’t be a dream because they never reoccur to the last detail, the last red droplet on the floor. Kyle inhales shakily, closing his eyes.

_“You are back, human.”_

Death is behind him, his scythe dragging on the ground. Kyle doesn’t turn, not trusting his courage.

_“You want to save your human friend don’t you? A few more seconds then Eric Cartman would’ve been mine.”_

“I want to protect him, like you said.” Kyle whispers. He looks up at death, curling his fists. Really, this all was too impossible, but he was accepting it. If it was a dream then it was harmless – if not, then he would have to see.

The thought of Cartman dying had stirred some emotion in him; some rich, untamed emotion that was ripped from his soul. Cartman wasn’t the best, but none of them were. Without the sly comments and teasing, he would feel something being pulled out of him. A few more centimetres and that icicle would’ve been at his throat. A few more centimetres, and Eric Cartman would be dead.

 _“There is a price. There always is.”_ Death extends one hand. _“But the difference between each human is, will you give it?”_

Kyle nods, knowing there is no turning back. His life is smaller than most others, too wrapped up in his studies. No price will be too big, or so he thinks.

“Yes. I will give you the price to save him.” Kyle says.”What can I give?”

He doesn’t look away from Death, but refuses to take his extended hand. Death doesn’t seem to mind, however.

 _“I ask for your eyes, human.”_ The world grows to the bitter cold that has been following Kyle ever since that Monday; Kyle himself feels his heart stop.

“My…eyes?”

 _“Your eyes, human. Give me your eyes, and let me drain the joy from your soul. Let me leave you without a flicker of happiness in your veins.”_ Death’s voice is quiet and whispering. _“Give me your eyes, human, and your friend will live.”_

Kyle clenches his fists, biting his tongue. He wonders whether it is worth it, and what would it cost. He answers almost immediately, however, his voice calm.

“I will give you my eyes.” Kyle whispers.

Kyle can smell the reek of decay as Death moves closer to him, gliding across the red floor.

There is a flash of white and Death’s fingers plough into his eyes, spurting blood on the ground. Kyle chokes, unable to scream, as pain pulses through his entire being. His feet leave the ground as he writhes, lifted up by Deaths own hands. Scarlett spills down his cheeks like tears.

He is dying, slowly.

Kyle wakes in bed, sitting up abruptly. Panting, he blinks at the peeling wall opposite him. Tentatively, his fingers move to his eyes – they are still there, undamaged. But something is wrong.

The world is grey and dull around him. No colours. No beauty.

Desperate, feverish thoughts of it all being a dream die before him, because it’s not just his new colour blindness that has changed. There is something in his body that has gone, died like the flame at the end of a candle.

There is no happiness blooming through him when he recalls his memories with his friends; just a strange numbness, like he is watching them from behind glass.

“Kyle! Mom says to get up! You’re late!” Ike’s voice shouts from below him. Kyle doesn’t answer, breathing in deeply. He can’t bring himself to go down and try and replicate something that was just _gone,_ but then he remembers who he has done this for, and that he chose this.

Kyle can’t smile as Cartman waddles towards him, ok and _alive –_ usually the sight of him in an arm cast would make him giggle, because it looks so stupid on Cartman. No – he stays silent, feeling like a spectator watching a life that wasn’t his.

“Stop fucking staring at me like that, Jew.” Cartman jeers, shoving past Kyle. Kyle stumbles but doesn’t fall, though he wishes he would do he could feel something.

It is then he realises that Cartman will never know his sacrifice. He will not let it leave his cursed lips.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“What are you, fucking mute as well as a hippy?” Cartman is still as difficult as ever, laughing to himself as he walks down the pavement. Kyle follows, because that is the usual routine.

They don’t even bother going to the bus stop – there is no bus and they know it.

Stan and Kenny are at the corner, laughing about something in one of Kenny’s magazine. Kenny’s bright parka is now just a grey in Kyle’s eyes and it hurts.

But he still feels a fondness as he stares at them all, a love that didn’t die. There is still something that he has, he realises, and he makes the effort to look happy when he waves at them. But it’s hard, and his hand falls to his side disappointingly.

“Hey dude.” Stan greets him with his usual smile. It drops, however, when Kyle doesn’t return it. He _can’t_ return it. “Hey, are you okay?” Typical Stan, always asking whether Kyle was doing fine. Kyle brushes him off, avoiding eye contact. Stan can read him like a book, and always sees when something is wrong through his eyes. He was told once that the eyes were the windows to the soul.

“I’m fine.” Kyle grunts, moving ahead of him. He can tell Stan is hurt, but he can’t look at him right now. Not until he is safe.

And so he doesn’t talk much, or not at all, for the next few days. He stays hidden behind his books, going to bed early and getting up later. The physical barrier is hurting him, but he can’t.

He can’t.

He hasn’t met Death since that dream.

Stan is calling him again. The phone lights up and Kyle finds himself answering, pressing the cold glass to his cheek.

“Hi Stan.” Kyle greets, closing his book.

“Hi Kyle. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Stan says back. Kyle realises how much he misses his voice, and the fondness warms his heart again. He doesn’t smile though, but relishes the brief feeling of weightlessness.

“Yeah…been busy with study.” Kyle looks over at his abandoned school bag, books sealed inside.

“Yeah. Right.” Stan doesn’t believe him either and Kyle doesn’t blame him. “What’s really going on with you?”

Kyle almost tells him but bites his lip to stop himself, because saying that his eyes have been plucked out by Death’s hands is unbelievable.

“I’m just tired. That’s all.” Stan is silent, so Kyle brightens his tone. “Really. It’s been a long week.” To his relief, Stan gives a weak chuckle.

“You can say that again.” Kyle holds the phone closer as he stares at his grey scale room, trying to get lost in his words. It is a small escape, and he misses being around his super best friend.

“Hey – can you come pick me up tonight?” Stan asks suddenly. Kyle lets out a small sigh, looking out the window. “It’s just I gotta go to study and it’s too late for my dad –“

Kyle remembers now. It’s the study session that is by the high school. It was organised by Wendy; a revision drop in ran by teens isn’t a too bad idea, seeing as they all have the same problems. Stan really does need to go – his grades are getting too low, and so he is thankful his friend decided to.

“It’s fine, really.” Kyle interrupts. His eyes are drowsy but he keeps them open, shivering as a cold wind gusts through his window. “I’ll pick you up at around ten? Just make sure Craig doesn’t try and kill you before then.”

Stan laughs again and Kyle relaxes in the sound.

“Ok dude. See you then.” Stan hangs up and Kyle drops his phone. He runs a hand through his curls, leaning back in his chair. He stares up at the grey posters, remembering how they used to be bursting with colour.

The clock ticks loudly, and Kyle’s tiredness is taking over him. It’s a few hours yet – it wouldn’t hurt to get some sleep before picking up his friend. He sets his alarm and climbs into bed, still fully dressed.

And he’s back in the white world. With a strong sense of dread, he watches as the blood collects at his feet. Something wet drips down his face and he touches it, recoiling at the sight of blood.

Long trails of scarlet are leaking from his eyes, dripping down his jawline and onto his neck. It is then that he realises that he can see red as clear as the grey and white, though he really shouldn’t.

He wonders why he is here this time, and what did he do to make himself trapped in this strange world. He just wanted to forget for a few bliss hours, and ignore the heavy weight in his chest.

_“You are back, human.”_

Death is behind him, still and silent. Kyle turns, feeling the warm blood spill faster as he blinks.

“I am.” Is all that he can say, because he never wanted to come back here, he wants to stay at home.

Death raises his scythe, resting it on his shoulder as he looks down at Kyle. The world grows cold.

“ _Tomorrow Stan Marsh will die. He will be on his way to help his farther fix his his car but will never make it.”_ Death tells him. Kyle steps back.

In his mind he sees a crumpled Stan Marsh, his limbs twisted in horrible directions. Kyle gasps, trembling as the image fades. Death is still standing above him, casting a long shadow.

“What can I give?” Kyle whispers, holding himself. He wants to stitch himself back together, and maybe he can, but not now. Because what Death says next shatters all his hopes of ever recovering.

 _“Your heart, human. Give me your heart and let me keep it as my own.”_ Death whispers horsely, extending one skeletal hand. _“Let me tear your passion from your soul. Let me starve you of the love that has protected you for so long.”_ Death’s fingers widen as Kyle stumbles backwards, clutching his chest. _“Give me your heart, human, and your friend will live.”_

“My…heart?” Kyle murmurs. He can feel it drumming beneath him, quick and panicked. He wonders whether it is worth it, and what would it cost. But Stan’s dead body flashes back in his mind, and he pushes the fear away.

“I will give you my heart.” Kyle’s voice is loud and confident. He closes his eyes, knowing what will come. He prepares himself, biting his lip.

It’s not the pain he imagines.

It’s much, much worse.

Kyle’s eyes fly open as Death’s hand claws his chest, peeling back layer after layer of skin to reach his treasure. The pain is like fire in his chest, and he screams louder. He feels blood pool around his body, pouring from his rib cage and staining his clothes a deep red. He screams louder, blood bubbling at his lips as he pleads for it to end. But the deal is already done, already sealed. There is no turning back.

Death tugs at his insides and Kyle can’t breathe, choking. His throat is raw but he can’t stop his cries of mercy as the pain only escalates.

His pain demands to be felt by all, but no one is there. His sacrifice isn’t known.

For a moment, when Kyle wakes, he thinks he is still in his dream – he is still cold and the pain in his chest is still there, piecing his entire being. His hand moves, clutching his chest. There is no gaping hole, only pale skin. But the pain is underneath, cruel and merciless.

Kyle gasps, moaning. He wants it to stop, wants it to end. The pain consumes him, making him collapse back onto his bed with a cry. It hurts, and he can’t take it.

Almost, the pain steals his other senses, but not quite. It is like he is balancing on the edge of a cliff – not quite there, trapped in space. They are dull, but he realises that he is cold, too cold. He can’t feel any of his limbs – they are ice. But there is no icy wind or open windows; the cold seems to be inside of him, taking him over slowly.

It’s torture and Kyle curls up on his bed, trembling and clutching his chest. His eyes see nothing but grey, unable to even find refuge in soothing colours.

With a buzz, his phone lights up. Kyle blearily reads the time, eyes widening.

It’s the next day, and he never went to pick up Stan.

Sure enough there are 27 texts and 8 voice mails in total. Kyle quickly unlocks his phone, calling Stan.

He is sent to voice mail.

“Kyle? Stan’s at the door and he looks angry.” Ike calls. Kyle doesn’t reply, still biting his lip to stop himself from screaming. The pain is worse, and he will do anything for it to end.

“Kyle…” Ike drags his name out. Kyle knows he has to reply or Ike will come upstairs. He hadn’t even heard Stan coming over – how long had he been lying in bed.

Kyle gasps as he stands, hunching over. The pain stabs him with every step he takes. By the time he reaches the door, he is in agony. But he still doesn’t regret it, he tells himself. It’s for Stan.

It takes him even longer to get downstairs. Stan is already in the living room, and he looks pissed. His friend doesn’t notice his friend’s deteriorating condition, turning away. Kyle straightens, vowing to look strong.

“What the fuck, Kyle?!” Stan doesn’t give him chance to talk, clenching his fists. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the actual fuck?”

“Stan - I’m sorry –“ guilt crushes Kyle and he steps forward, only for Stan to step away.

“You fucking left me dude! I was there till twelve! What the fuck was that about? You say that you come then you don’t, you barely speak to us all of a sudden –“ Stan makes a frustrated noise, raising his hands in the air. Kyle feels burning in his eyes, the pain from his chest momentarily forgotten.

“Stan, I’m sorry!” Kyle yells. Stan ignores him.

“Sorry isn’t fucking enough Kyle. You don’t even act like my friend anymore.” Stan’s voice is low and even. Kyle feels the world crumpling around him. He steps back, leaning against the wall. He wants Stan to turn around, see what state Kyle is in, say thank you for what he has done. But he doesn’t.

Instead Stan walks away, shoving his hands into his pockets. The pain is growing on Kyle’s chest, betrayal and hurt written on his face.

“Are you ok?” Ike asks him, rubbing his arm. Kyle nods. “Geez, your hands are cold…”

“I know.” Kyle ticks his hands in his pockets. “I know.”

It’s all the same, apart from the fact that Stan won’t talk to him.

He goes to school, goes home and lies in his bed, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

Only Kenny is properly talking to him now, so Kyle decides to go to Walmart with him at 11pm.

Because he isn’t sleepy, and he just wants to escape his room for a few hours. Kenny is always awake, so naturally he invites him, not trusting himself to be out alone.

“You want a pack of raisins? At eleven?” Kenny asks him as they walk down the dimly lit street. Kyle hates raisins and Kenny knows it, but he doesn’t question it. Kyle is grateful, and shoves his hands in his pockets to try and warm them. It doesn’t work.

“Yeah.” Kyle mutters. A cold gust of wind almost topples him over, making him intake sharply. It hurts where his heart should’ve been and his hand moves to his chest automatically, nails digging into the skin.

“Are you okay?” Kenny asks, staring at him. It feels like Kenny is x-raying him, and he wonders whether Kenny senes something beyond him his going. Kenny has died too many times to count, so maybe, just maybe he knows something.

But the moment passes when Kenny finishes his sentence:

“I heard you and Stan had a big fall out.” He says. Kyle bites his lip to stop himself from screaming. He wishes he never went out. He wishes he didn’t care so much – but the love he once felt has almost gone, taken by Death himself. He only feels a stronger pain blossom whenever he experiences something close – almost as if love is a too big cost.

“Yeah.” Kyle repeats, walking faster. The quicker he goes to the store, the quicker he gets home.

The two friends stop at a road, waiting as the traffic lights change colour. Kenny is still looking at Kyle, brown eyes staring deep into his.

“I’ll believe whatever you say, you know.” He says softly. Kyle looks away, folding his arms. He is torn.

The light turns red and they both begin to cross, Kenny a few steps ahead of him. He turns around, walking backwards, so he can face Kyle.

“Please. Tell me.” Kenny’s eyes are kind and understanding and he is hypnotised. He longs to tell the blonde everything, and he opens his mouth. Doubt bubbles in his mind but he pushes it away.

He wants help. He wants someone to understand.

“I –“ Kyle is cut off by a screech of tyres and a loud horn. There is a bright light, not heading for him but for Kenny.

“Kenny!” The world stops. There is a flash of metal.

Kenny didn’t even have time to scream.

Kyle drops to his knees. There, spread out like a fallen angel, is Kenny McCormick. His eyes are still open, glazed and unseeing. Blood is leaking out of his mouth, but otherwise he looks fine – like they are playing “dead people” again when they were eight, and giggling as they tried to stay still. But Kenny isn’t giggling and isn’t getting up. He doesn’t say “Got You!” or anything like that. Kenny must’ve died a thousand times but for some reason this sticks with Kyle and he can’t take it. He stumbles backwards, almost tripping. The panicked driver calls out to him but he flees, feet taking him where he knows he won’t be found.

He’s eight again and he’s playing hide and seek, crashing through the undergrowth and determined to win. He’s ten, sitting on his own as he draws a duck that wandered near him.

He’s eighteen, and he’s running away from everyone, trying to block the image of Kenny’s body from his mind. His chest burns and he is forced to collapse just beside the lake in the undergrowth. He screams, shaking, and feels himself slip into unconsciousness. The thought of Kenny is with him until he is blissfully taken from the world.

But he isn’t.

He is back in white, red now almost covering it all. Blood drips from his eyes, but this time he also has a gaping hole where his heart should be. Instead it is torn and bloody, his ribs showing easily through the remaining muscles. His heart is nowhere to be seen, simply scooped out.

 _“You are back, human.”_ This time Kyle doesn’t look at Death, instead falling into his hands and knees. Blood pools under him, scarlet and cold.

“Can…can I save him?” His voice is quiet and weak.

 _“He always lives on, human. You have seen it for yourself.”_ Death tells him. Kyle shakes his head.

“I want him to live, not die all of the time.” Kyle explains. Death steps closer to him and he smells decay again, stronger this time.

 _“But there is a price, human.”_ Death’s voice is quiet but it booms in Kyle’s ears. _“There always is.”_

Kyle weeps.

“I have nothing left to give…” his voice is broken and quiet. He stares up at Death’s expressionless face, deep into his two blackened eyes. He lets out a small cry of anguish.

“I have…nothing left to give.”

Death is silent above him.

 _“Then give me your hand.”_ He says. He extends one hand. Kyle just stares at the hand, trembling.

_“Give me your hand, human. Give me your hand and let me forever keep your freedom. Let me force you to follow me and never move on. Give me your hand, and your friend will be free from the curse.”_

Kyle wonders whether it is worth it, and what it would cost.

Still, he does not think of himself.

His hand reaches out slowly. He takes Death’s hand, shivering as his icy fingers wrap around his own.

Kyle’s Broflovski takes his last breath as Kenny takes his first.

He is in the snow, eyes closed with frost on the eyelashes. There is a faint smile on his lips, hardly noticeable. His body will not be found for a few days, but when it does it is found by his three friends, who just wanted to relax for a few treasured moments.

His funeral is a few days later, and almost everyone at his school attends. His family is at the front, and his few friends. His coffin is lowered, covered by white lilies.

Kyle watches as Ike cries into his mother, holding her close. Death is next to him, silent.

He watches as each of his friends say their last goodbye, each laying their own unique flower by his grave.

 _“Was it worth it?”_ Death asks him as the clouds gather above them. Kyle turns to him. Blood still spills from his eyes, a gaping hole still where is heart should be.

Kyle watches the rain fall from the sky, sighing.

“Yes.” Kyle decides, turning to Death. “It was.” Death pauses.

_“But what did it cost?”_

Kyle turns back towards the rain, watching it mix with the blood gathering around him.

“Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review or give kudos, I want to make a mini series of darker South Park stories like this but if o one likes it I guess not...  
> Anyone get the Infinity War reference? ;)


End file.
